


Pillow Talk

by bugmadoo



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, Making Out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-06 16:15:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4228461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bugmadoo/pseuds/bugmadoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian and Mickey do some pillow talking</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pillow Talk

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dracocos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracocos/gifts).



> Canon complient until 4x12 and not betad so sorry for all the mistakes in advance!
> 
> This is for the wonderful and amazing Fran who puts up with my sad headcanons way more than anybody should and who is generally the greatest person ever. Thanks for helping me survive S5 <3
> 
>  
> 
> [caputdraconis.tumblr.com](caputdraconis.tumblr.com)

Every time you inhale it feels like you’re breathing in water instead of air. It had been fine yesterday, the heat something you can handle if you don’t have to leave the house and feel the sun burning on your skin. But it had rained last night and instead of cooling down the weather a little, the air was sticky, the humidity clinging to both of your skins. You can’t remember ever experiencing a day this hot, and despite the fact that the sun is hanging low on the horizon, you still have absolutely no motivation to move a single muscle.

So of course, you protested when Ian left his spot next to you on the bed and moved to lie on top of you, between your legs, resting his head on your stomach and looking at you through hooded eyes. All your grumbling and complaining and cursing didn’t change Ian’s mind at all and you groaned, looking at the ceiling, wondering how on earth you could feel even hotter than before. Now, ten minutes later, you have to admit that you feel almost normal again, Ian’s skin cool against yours, and his warm puffs of breath against your chest are soft and soothing, despite their temperature. He’s the antidote to the heat, like he’s your antidote to many things.

The two of you just stay like this for a while, listening to the sounds of summer streaming in through the open window and you think that if you were in any other neighborhood than this one, you’d probably be able to hear the birds sing. But you’re not so you don’t, and what you hear is the sound of some stray cars driving by, the El rumbling in its tracks, children screaming, and an argument between three – no four – men about two houses over. You hear the buzzing of an airplane flying low, approaching for a landing at O’Hare, and the rusty old set of swings in your neighbor’s garden squeaking from the breeze that finally decided to set in and give you some relief.

There are probably at least five more sounds you could make out but all of the noises fade into the background as you look back down at Ian’s face. You can’t see all of it since his head is turned towards the window, his eyes closed, but you don’t need to look at his face to be able to see it. The freckles, some more visible than others, that you sometimes start counting although it is to no avail since Ian always distracts you sooner or later. The barely visible stubble that burns you but it burns in all the right places (you definitely like it). His asymmetrical jaw that immediately lets you know when he’s pissed at someone or something, and that still looks so fucking good on him. The curve of his nose that your kid likes to squeeze with his meaty fingers because it makes Ian do that robot voice that makes Yev giggle. That in return, always makes you smile because that kid has the most contagious laugh you have ever heard.

You still struggle with the fact that he’s your kid at times, that he’s dependent on you and that he seems to love you. Some days it’s easy to care for him – feeding him, changing his diaper, putting him to sleep – and some days it’s hard. Ian always helps but he automatically takes over on bad days as if he can tell, and you think that he probably can. He _knows_ without you having to say anything and it’s a small surprise to you how much you don’t mind that someone knows you that well – that he knows you that well.

You sniff in the fresh air breezing in through the open window, rub your nose and lift your hand to stroke over his head once because you know he likes when you do that and you like the feeling of his hair between your fingers. Ian turns his head then, slides up your body a little and crosses his arms on your chest so his chin isn’t resting directly on you. He looks at you in that way that makes your heart flutter, eyes warm, a smile on his lips, and it’s one of those pictures that you want to commit to memory for forever.

He’s still looking at you intently, his smile growing brighter and brighter, until you start to feel like squirming so you break the silence.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing, huh?”

“Yep.”

A second later, Ian’s nothing turns into a kiss on your sternum, the dip between your collarbones and eventually a kiss on your mouth, another, another and another. They’re small pecks really, a short meeting of your lips, loud and soft, sizzling and soothing. He scoots up a little more, so his face is directly above yours, legs parting on either side of your hips, both of your boxers the only thing between you.

You lift your hands to the back of his head, pulling him in because those kisses feel too much like teasing and as much fun as that is, it’s never enough. You always want the whole deal when it comes to him, so you part your lips, licking along his bottom lip and he gets it. He moans when your tongues meet in the middle, and you silently agree that this is your favorite part too.

The kiss is slow, no real urgency behind it, the only goal being the kiss itself. Ian’s grip on your head is light, so light you almost don’t feel it, but you do and it’s warm and it’s safe, and you sigh into the space between your lips. He catches it and returns it in like, and it turns into a spark that slow-dances across your lips, leaving you electrified and breathless. You feel like your lungs are going to explode, your heart beating audibly in your ears and you’re so utterly lost in everything _Ian_ , you never want this to ever stop.

He pulls away slightly and looks at you, his face looking inviting and relaxed, his eyes screaming _I love you_ and you hope that yours say _I love you too_. You’re not really sure if they really are though, so you pull him in again, suck on his bottom lip, the one that’s been all over your body at one point or the other, so you do it gently because he’s always gentle with you too. He hums at the sensation and the vibration of it tingles both of your lips, his more than yours, so he pulls away and laughs, his thumb softly brushing over your lips.

It basically finishes how it started, with small pecks repeatedly landing on your lips, loud smacks that make you smile like an idiot and that makes your stomach flutter again. You wind your arms around him then, holding him as close as possible, feeling the contact of your bodies. Sometimes you simply like the feeling of him pressing you down, grounding you, reminding you that this is very much real. You can’t explain why, but the position is calming and soothing, despite your breath coming shorter this way. Sometimes you even go so far as needing it, and Ian always quickly provides that kind of comfort and holds onto you so tightly that it makes you think he needs it too.

Ian reaches for one of your hands on his back, entwining your fingers together and something about the gesture is always so sweet and simple, you can’t help how your heartbeat pumps louder when he does it. You use your free hand to stroke over the back of his head and he kisses your neck in return.

You lie like this for a while, synching your breathing patters and running your thumb along the palm of his hand. The heat is less of a problem this time, a fresh breeze from outside keeping both of you relatively cool.

You’re ripped out of your little bubble of Ian as you hear his phone go off with a text notification and he groans before sitting up on top of you and grabbing it from the nightstand.

“From Fiona,” he says while staring at the screen.

“ _Gallagher pool party! Promise the water will be nice and cold in 30 minutes_ ,” he reads, his voice high pitched, clearly trying to sound like his sister and failing miserably. You really can’t help but burst out laughing.

“Come on, it wasn’t that bad.”

“That sounded nothing like her.”

“As if you could do it any better,” he scowls, and it really makes you want to kiss him.

“I’m not even trying because I know better than to make-“ He cuts you off by quickly pressing his lips against yours as if he read your mind.

You know he’s kissing you to shut you up but it’s also his way of admitting defeat so you let him, silently celebrating your small victory. The kiss is the best prize you can think of and there really are very few things you would rather be doing than kissing him anyway. Your lips seems a little bit more sensitive from before, intensifying the feeling of him on you, and you can literally feel the electric shiver running down your spine, into your entire body.

He stops leaning on his elbows and goes back to weighing you into the mattress, your lips still moving in a familiar dance, one you perfected over the years, and _fuck_ , it actually has been years by now. The thought makes you smile into the kiss, and tighten your grip in his hair because you needed him these last few years, you need him now, and you will need him for a long while.

The kiss grows slower but deeper when your tongues meet again and you try to take in everything he’s giving you, from the taste of his lips and the soft puffs of breath on your face to your hands gripping his neck and feeling of his back muscles moving under his skin. It all becomes a whirlwind of emotions somewhere inside of you, one that is guaranteed to make your heart skip a beat and that lets you forget that time is passing at all.

Again, you’re interrupted by Ian’s phone and you have half a mind to throw that thing out of the window when Ian angrily mumbles something under his breath and picks up the phone. His eyebrows draw together as he reads the message and you can’t tell if he looks angry or annoyed or a combination of those two.

“Your brother going to be there?” you ask, deciding to investigate the expression on his face.

“I have three of those,” he replies, his face changing instantly, the grin from earlier starting to make an appearance again.

“You know exactly which one I’m talking about,” you say, raising your eyebrows, although you should have expected that exact answer from him.

“But I thought you liked Liam? He’s small and cute, how can –“

“Is that really how you want to play this?“

“ – and you know that Fiona doesn’t let Carl out of her si –“

You manage to catch him by surprise when you suddenly flip both of you over, which is the only reason he doesn’t put up a fight. You immediately attack his mouth so he will be too distracted to turn you over once more. You may like Ian on top of you, but you like to be on top of Ian just as much sometimes.

You don’t linger on his mouth for very long this time because there are lots of other patches of Ian’s skin that are begging for your attention. His right hand and your left one find together next to his head, fingers threading together and pressing against each other reassuringly, and you move your right hand to cradle his neck. You start your journey by placing short pecks on his chin and then down his jaw, covering any square inch of it with your lips. Lightly, you scrape your teeth over the corner of his jaw bone, right next to his earlobe, suck on the skin there before blowing air over it and Ian is moaning right into your ear. You kiss the spot again and move down a little, all the while your thumb is resting against his throat, barely moving, which means you’re really sensitive to all the sounds Ian is making, and the breaths he’s huffing out.

On your way back towards his mouth you leave just as many pecks on his skin, if not even more, kissing and licking and sucking along the bone of his jaw. When you reach his lips, it feels like coming home and you see splashes of warm red dance across the back of your eyelids. The red seems to spread, turning into warmth that travels along with Ian’s hand from your shoulder to your hip, but it eventually settles in your chest and beats along with your heart.

Now, Ian pulls his head back slightly, pushing into the pillow, and you get the hint and break your kiss. You look at him for a minute, confirming that the little details you had envisioned earlier are still accurate. You smile at yourself and rest your forehead against his, closing your eyes and breathing. These are your favorite moments, you think, the ones where Ian and you just _are_ , without interruptions and distractions.

“What time is it?” he asks, his lips brushing lightly against yours as he speaks.

You reach for the phone Ian dropped on the bed earlier and look. “8:40.”

“Fiona probably forgot that my new meds knock me out at 10,” he says, clenching his eyes, and there’s that edge to his voice he gets every time he talks about anything related to his illness.

You understand why, but that doesn’t mean you don’t wish you could make it go away. The last year has been hard on him between mania and depression and acceptance. He has been more or less stable for a while now but the road has been a rocky one. About a month ago, he and his doc seem to have found a combination of meds that finally are working for him after a long time of trial and error. You know that med adjustments take a toll on him – especially the last once since Ian hates going to bed early – but he’s making the effort and that’s what counts. He tends to forget this so you try to remind him as often as possible.

“Just means your sleeping schedule is better than hers.”

“ _Liam_ goes to bed later than me. I’m 19, I should be –“ he stops himself, searching for words but you know what he means anyway so you kiss them off his lips.

You try to make him forget the frustration his words implicated, kissing slowly, making every second feel so much longer. Ian’s lips are soft against yours, as soft as they always are, and you think you would do this forever and ever. But you’re still human so you pull away a little to breathe and you’re pleased to see that his face is far from the expression it had before.

 “We can go over for an hour if you want,” you suggest even though moving from your spot on the bed with Ian and facing a horde of Gallaghers isn’t your ideal way to spend this night.

“Nah, wanna stay here with you.” He’s nuzzling his face against yours as he says it, his hand on the side of you head.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, Mick.”

The fizzy feeling under your skin, that you learned to recognize as love, bubbles up in your chest again and you close your eyes against its force. This reaction to Ian used to make you nervous as hell since it always hit you without any warning and at the most random of times. Sometimes it made your breath catch, sometimes it made you want to kiss him, sometimes fuck him. Every single time something inside you urged you to tell him three little words and after a while you gave into that impulse, and now you tell him almost every time it happens and always get a response.

By now you can almost conjure the feeling by yourself when you remember another time it happened and you let it wash over you, savoring it. It doesn’t make you nervous anymore.

“Since when do you care if Lip’s there or not, though?” He asks, picking up the conversation from earlier. You kinda wish he hadn’t.

“I don’t.”

“Why did you ask then?”

“I’m just not in the fucking mood to put up with his bullshit.”

“So … you do care,” he says and smiles knowingly at you.

“He’s fucking annoying man,” you note, “probably hates me or some shit.”

“He doesn’t.”

You only raise your eyebrows in response.

Despite Ian’s protest you’re sure that you’re pretty low on Lip’s list of people he likes, judging from the way all you two do whenever you’re together is argue over one thing or the other. Honestly, you couldn’t care less about how Lip Gallagher feels and would be happy to ignore his existence into all of eternity, if it wasn’t for the fact that you know he’s important to Ian. So, unfortunately, being important to Ian makes it a little bit of your concern too.

“It’s just that Lip likes being right all the time and you’ve proven him wrong a lot,” he says quietly, and takes your hand in his.

“How?” you ask.

He’s silent for a while and you grow a little nervous although you think you know what he’s getting at.

“You stayed, Mick. You decided to stick with me. Lip didn’t expect you to.”

For something to be a decision, there have to be options to choose between, and for you, not being with Ian just never was one. Not really. He crept up on you over time, got under your skin, and attached himself to your vital organs – you would always carry him around with you in some way. There was no getting away from Ian Gallagher, not that you ever would want to.

“Lip needs to fucking understand that I’m not going anywhere, no matter what he thinks,” you say angrily, raising your eyebrows and then biting your lip.

You don’t know why exactly, but something in the way that Ian said that last sentence makes you think that Lip is not the only one who didn’t expect you to stay. At the thought your heart does that aching-stinging thing that only Ian can evoke, and you want show him and show him that you’re here and that you will be here for a long while.

Since words always fail you in situations like this, you settle on non-verbal communication and gently place your hands on either side of his head and lock your eyes with him. The expression on his face changes too quickly for you to read but you can see emotions cooking up inside him, his eyes a little glossier than usual.

“Only wanna be here,” you whisper, “I love you.”

You kiss his forehead, and lean yours against his but Ian wants more and closes the small distance between your mouths. The kiss is frantic and desperate now, the emotions behind it heavy and important. You cling to each other as if you’re in the middle of a storm, your fingernails probably leaving dents on his skin, just like the ones he’s leaving on yours. It feels like you’re tying your beings together in a knot so big and complicated and strong that nobody and nothing will ever be able to untangle it.

Ian breaks the kiss and wraps his arms around you then, pressing your bodies together and you can feel his heart beating quickly against your ribcage as you close your eyes.


End file.
